There’s 3 books of these stories available on Amazon. Put your e-mail address in the box below and I’ll send you the first one for free, as a PDF.
Not only that, you’ll get new stories as I write them. That’s about one a week, at the moment.
And they’re more fun to find in your in-box than more ‘BUY MORE STUFF!’ messages too.
The end of the world has been cancelled. Have a nice day.
So… what’s a fauxpocalypse?
It’s the end of the world. Except it’s not.
I don’t follow.
Here’s the idea: on July 15th, the world was going to end. The comet Grijalva was headed straight for Earth and scientists were completely unanimous that it was going to hit, and then that would be it. Extinction Level Event.
But?
But it didn’t happen. The comet turns out to be more ice than rock and it breaks up. There’s collateral damage, but it’s not the end of the world.
So everyone who thought the world was going to end now has to face the fact that it hasn’t?
Yep. Nice idea, I thought.
Concur.
Anyhow, this is a set of short stories from several different authors, each with their own take on the aftermath. Although…
Although?
Well, everyone’s got a pretty similar idea of what the end of the world would be like. Riots, looting, and debauchery in the cities, grim survivalists out in the country. So even though there’s a lot of different authors, these stories mostly deal with pretty similar scenarios.
That sounds like it could get old fast.
Actually, the collection doesn’t outstay it’s welcome – the stories are well-written enough for them to carry you even when they’re a bit similar in scope. That said, obviously the digressions are the most interesting ones. Shoulders of Giants gives us the view from the International Space Station, and there was a great story at the end called Full Moon covering the 9-months-later implications of all that end-of-the-world sex.
Hah, I didn’t think of that.
No, me neither. It took me far longer than it should take a 31-year-old to work out precisely what was going on with all the women.
So the stories are all pretty good?
Yeah. Obviously as with any multi-author collection, some are better than others. And there’s definitely a couple where the authors focus too much on what’s happening without providing much in the way of a story – we see the panic and the riots but the characters we take the journey with have no depth. They watch the apocalypse but it doesn’t change them; they’re nothing but cyphers, and their stories feel more like snapshots. Distracting, maybe. Interesting? No.
Do many of them do that?
No, only a couple. And when Fauxpocalypse is good, it’s very good. Alice follows a troubled girl who welcomed the end finally coming to some kind of terms with her past trauma in the wake of the non-event. In Revelation, a student has an epiphany in the dawn streets of Oxford. In Thieves in the Night, Jason barely notices the comet’s passing because his own apocalypse happened in the weeks before. Each of these stories uses the non-apocalypse as a backdrop, but the main event is what’s happening to the characters, the world becoming a metaphor for what they’re personally going through.
Sounds like fun.
It is. And a remarkably quick read, as well. There’s 12 stories in all, but I was surprised how fast I got through it.
Shiny. So worth a read?
I’d say so. Decent stories and supporting new writers. What’s not to love?
Mist was rising off Dozmary Pool as Arfa waited at the duelling ground.
Morgan and Mark, Lord of the Sea, stood with her. Both had brought spears, their guards standing in a growing crowd of people.
“Keep moving,” Mark said. “If you’re lucky you’ll wear him out before he cuts you up too much.”
“No armour, my King?” Morgan asked.
“Not against that sword.”
A gleaming figure strode through the crowd. The early sun radiated from the Bronze Knight’s armour, as if he was a vengeful god.
Morgan returned to Mordred’s side. “An interesting fight,” he said. “Kill the winner.”
3 collections of stories are now live on Amazon!
They’ve got unicorns and pirates and murder and SCIENCE and penguins and the moon.
They’re less than £2 each. That’s like 4p per story. A BARGAIN the like of which the world has never seen!
You can get them here:
Tristan had killed Arfa eight times when Guinever brought Morgan’s reply.
“He ‘will enjoy watching his King triumph’,”Arfa read. “Snake probably sent the bronze bastard.”
Tristan hefted his sword. “We should keep practising.”
“Why? He beat Cai. His sword cuts metal like it was bread. We fight tomorrow. Can I win?”
Tristan said nothing.
Guinever put his hand on Arfa’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight.”
“Yes, I do. If I don’t, Morgan calls me a coward. People start believing him. Then…” Arfa’s voice cracked. “I’m going to die, Guin.”
“No.” Guinever looked at Arfa’s sword. “I’ve got an idea.”
Morgan, Lord of Grass, examined the paper his son had given him.
“The Bronze Knight. You know of him?”
“He’s an outlaw,” Mordred said. “A rogue warlord from Wessex.”
“Can he be bought?”
“Anyone can be bought, father.”
“Can he be killed?”
“Anyone can be killed.”
“Very true.”
“I could take ten spears, kill him before the duel. Arfa would be in your debt.”
“No. As my liege lord, I insist she proves herself.”
Mordred hesitated. “She’ll be killed.”
“She will. And your spears should avenge her. Giving Cornwall the king it should have had all this time.”
“You.”
“Me.”
The man in Arfa’s seat was armoured head to toe in bronze, and his sword shone a stabbing silver.
Arfa entered, and he spat. “And they call you King?”
“With good reason.”
His bronze boot touched Uther’s worn blade. “Can you even lift Daddy’s sword, whelp?”
Arfa barely could, and said nothing.
He stood. “I will kill you, girl.”
Cai was fast, the knight was faster. Cai’s blade sheared in two, and a gauntlet punched him cold.
“But not here. We will duel in front of the Lords of Grass and Sea. When you fall, your lands will be mine.”
Arfa’s reflection stared at her from the water of Dozmary Pool. “They say this pool is bottomless.”
“The peasants?”
“Don’t call them that.”
“What?”
“Peasants. Call people peasants and you start treating them like peasants.”
Tristan shrugged. “Does Merlyn say it’s bottomless?”
“I doubt it. I’ll ask her when she’s back from Ireland.”
Hooves clattered on the slope below, and Cai reined in beside them. “There’s a visitor in your hall. He says he wishes to meet the first woman to become King of the Grass, the Moors and the Sea. And… and he says he’s come to kill you.”
“So, if my heart is heavier than that ostrich feather…”
“Your soul will be devoured by Ammit, Devourer of the Dead, Eater of Hearts.”
“That overly large crocodile… thing behind you? The one licking its lips?”
“Yes. Oh. Don’t worry, the feather we use is very heavy. Back up, Ammit, you’re scaring the poor fellow.”
“Oh. Well. Good to know, I guess? Not many souls get eaten, then?”
“Well… ever since the advent of internet porn, let’s just say not many men have passed since then. Never know, you might be the lucky one to break the streak!”
“Oh. Well. Shit.”
Here’s the cover of the first Kindle collection – what do you think?
All 3 books should be out pretty soon – the editor’s currently checking for typos and other idiocy on my part, so I’m hoping all 3 will launch next week.
And then the real honest-to-God paper book, all being well, will come out in May.
This publishing stuff’s pretty exciting.
Our couples’ therapist told us we should try to see things through each other’s eyes.
So we swapped.
I’m already noticing differences. The dark alley just before you reach our front door looks more unnerving. The crisps I eat at lunch taste of guilt. Benedict Cumberbatch seems… more.
I mean, damn.
But the biggest change is my own reflection. I look beautiful.
And it’s not just me. The first time she saw herself with my eyes, she blushed.
We swapped back, and we’re better. Turned out it didn’t matter how we saw everything else. Only how we saw each other.